


Pretty Things

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Jack introduces Brock to his hobbies in an unusual way.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Pretty Things

Brock jolts awake, unbelievably cold. 

It robs him of his breath, body quaking in a desperate attempt at staying warm. It takes a moment from his eyes to focus, for the world to stop spinning in a blur of red and black. He’s staring at glass, a body suspended in some sort of fluid. Everything is tinged red and he’s cold. So very, very cold. Around him are walls of tanks, the sort of long rectangular ones he recognizes from pet stores, meant for large reptiles. 

The red tinge doesn’t fade and Brock realizes that the walls are red. He looks around, eyes drawn downward at the clattering sound around him. Ice. He stares at the cubes of frozen condescation for a moment, utterly clueless as to what was happening. He closes his eyes, teeth beginning to chatter and thinks. He remembers getting into bed with Jack…and awakening in the ice bath in this red, red room. That is all. 

He tries to curb the panic but it wells up beyond his control. His muscles are cold and the tremors cause aches to run through his body in waves. He knows he needs to stand, to figure out was happening and go home but he feels like he’s fighting through molasses. Heaving his body upwards seems to sap all his strength, tremors creeping through his body as he rolls his body over the hard edge of the metal tub. 

He hits the floor with a smacking sound that bounces off the glass of the display tanks. Brock lays there, stunned as he tries to remember to breathe and pick through his memories, hazed with panic and fear. He shivers, fingers numbed from the cold scrape over the tiles. His eyes clench shut and then widen as he wills himself not to pass out. The chill of the floor presses against his skin, his bare skin, and he realizes he’s naked. 

The floor is red and Brock realizes it not simply because the lights bathe everything in its crimson glow. The blood red tiles beneath him seem particularly ominous and he fights to his knees. He tries to ignore the line of bodies to his left, all glassy eyed, each head directly towards him. Against his better judgment he wonders if the people in the tanks woke up like him, in a bath of ice unsure on how they got there. 

Brock swallows down his panic and the sickening dread that tastes of bile and blood and rises to his feet. He feels a bit steadier now, whatever used to knock him unconscious clearing quickly from his system. Maybe it’s intentional but Brock tells himself that no, he’s defying the odds. 

The first step is hesitant and the second unsteady but the third and fourth are growing increasingly strong and more pointed. There’s no door on this red room and he sees the stretch of hallway, narrow and red. The lighting unsettles him as he steps into the narrow passage, the walls out here painted the same shade. He can see an opening at the other end. 

Brock was hesitant to reach it, but the idea of escape was too enticing to pass up. 

Brock has never feared anything the way he fears his fate and that makes it all the more terrifying. He stumbles, using the wall to support him. A few times he falls to his knees, desperation increasing every time he hit the tile. By some miracle he finally makes it but what he sees takes a long time to process. 

It’s Jack wearing a smock, humming quietly as he trails the flat side of a knife on the exposed torso of the body lying on a metal table. “I was wondering if you’d ever wake up.” 

It doesn't make sense. Brock knows Jack. They have been on half a dozen dates and Brock has spent several nights beside him. If he had intended to kill him, why would he have wait? 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Brock’s teeth are clattering together, body shuddering with cold. 

Jack looks at him and cocks his head. “You kept asking about my hobbies.” 

Hobby? “You’re a fucking serial killer.” 

“Mmhm. I like to preserve pretty things. Don’t you think she’s pretty? Little button nose. I saw her and knew she would fit the collection.” Jack looks at him, smiling like this isn’t the most fucked up thing in the world. “Did you like them?”

Brock’s fairly certain if he says no Jack will murder him. But there’s also a nagging thought of why he wasn’t pretty enough to add to his collection. “Um, yes?” 

Brock is so fucking cold. 

Jack frowns. “I know, I know. It’s a niche taste. Different strokes for different folks and all that.” He smiles again, looking down at the body. “I like red hair. Red is my favorite color, you see. But I told you that already. On our second date, remember?” 

Brock nods. He did remember that date. They had ordered wine and Jack commented on how much he loved the red color. At the time it was harmless. Now… 

“I remember,” Brock whispers and, with a gulp asks, “Are...are you going to add me to your c-collection?”

Jack looks at him, head cocking once more. “You are pretty,” Jack says like he’s weighing it. “Maybe one day.” 

That really should horrify Brock but… In some fucked way he’s relieved with it. Okay, with the fact that he was worthy of his collection. “So this-this is your hobby.” 

“You like boxing, I like preservation.” 

Sure. That’s not crazy or anything. But love blinds reason and Brock knew he loved Jack on the fourth date. So this… This is a set back but it didn’t merit a break up. It’s a speed bump, a temporary hiccup. 

“Can I have clothes?” 

“Oh, sure. It’s on the chair over there.” 

No longer naked he hesitantly walks over to where Jack is standing and looks down at the woman. She looks familiar in some way, open glassy green eyes and a red hair splayed out. Milky unblemished skin and a swan like neck. She is pretty. 

While Brock can’t pretend to really understand Jack’s hobby yet, he can agree that should probably make a good addition to his collection. And, one day, so would Brock. For the first time since arriving here, he smiles and rests his head on Jack’s shoulder.


End file.
